


Harte Zeiten, Harte Pflichten, Harte Herzen

by As1anBeasTagE



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: British, F/M, Missing in Action, Snipers, Soviet Russia, Spy - Freeform, US Army, Wehrmacht, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-17 09:14:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8138699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/As1anBeasTagE/pseuds/As1anBeasTagE
Summary: War is War and Hell is Hell; and war is the worse of the two. When Nick is nursed back to health by a rabbit after his squad was ambushed, he comes to question the morals and responsibilities that he has come to accept whilst he was a sniper in the Wehrmacht.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: To Walk the Fine Line is currently on hiatus due to an overabundance of writer's block. I hope that I will be able to continue it in the near future, but in the mean time here's a new story. Thank you to Maxmar and Karteufel for helping me edit the German and flow issues in this first chapter.

The sun set on the horizon casting an orange-yellow glow over the airbase, the German flag with its characteristic swastika drifted proudly over the control tower and several other buildings inside the complex. Flak guns and other anti-air emplacements were pointed to the sky waiting for the inevitable. Their crew’s eyes trained to the sky, searching for the glint of metal shinning in a vast and open abyss. Several heavy fighters were out on the tarmac with their flight crews doing final preparations for night operations against the massive onslaught of British bombers in what had become standard procedure over the past year. The larger predators were taking belts of ammunition and loading them into the guns housed in the nose of the aircraft, whilst smaller mammals were inspecting inside the cowlings of the engines for any parts damaged by raids from the night before. Repairs were evident on this plane due to the mismatched paint spots on the side where ground crews repaired several bullet holes in the fuselage. Tension filled the air as most had come to believe that the base was the next target for the British Bomber Command.

Through his window in the barracks, an emerald eye peered through a scope at each of the ground crews faces. Most of them were scared shitless and he could see it on their faces.

_Young…and stupid_ , the fox thought.

He set the scope back down on the table, his Kar98 rifle in pieces before him cleaned, oiled, and ready to reassemble. He put the rifle back together piece by piece and before long, he had rebuilt his killing machine. He placed the scope back on its rail and threaded the locking screws in place before shouldering his rifle and placing his cheek on the buttstock, looking through his scope. Just then, the door to his quarters flew open revealing a saluting otter brandishing a small, folded strip of paper.

“Unteroffizier! Message for you!” he exclaimed before bringing his paw down and running into the room to deliver the message. He held it out at the unfazed fox still gazing through his scope. An uneasy feeling filled the otter’s body as he saw that the fox was half naked; multiple scars on his left side along with several others that ran from the base of his ear down to the chin. Tightness built in his chest, let it be from sheer horror or fear. The fox brought the rifle down from his shoulder after a few long moments. He placed it on the table and took the message from the otter. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen years old and he could smell the fear radiating from the otters scent.

“Danke schön, Soldat. And if you ever barge into this room like that again…” he said as he stood up and loomed over the smaller mammal with his claws out and teeth baring. “…your head will end up splattered on that wall and your intestines will be turned into bratwurst…got it?”

The otter squeaked out a ‘yes sir’ before running out the room terrified. He smirked and sat down on the bed across from the table unfolding the message labeled for him. It read as follows:

**Unteroffizier Nicholas Wilde**

**Mission critical:**  
Squad transferred to Falaise for further orders.  
See Oberst Wolfgang Eisenhart for transfer details.

_Why am I needed in Falaise. There’s nothing there besides a couple of Säugetiergrenadier divisions. This’d better be good. At least I’ll be able to see an old friend._

He stood up from his bed and grabbed his uniform top and patrol cap from the bedpost and put them on as he left his bunk, his hands working swiftly to button up the coat in order to make himself look presentable to his old comrade.

* * *

Chatter filled Nick’s ears as he opened the doors to the administration building, taking off his cap and stuffing it into one of the many pockets on his uniform. Several large mammals were shuffling files full of paperwork from one office to another; others were on the radio with Luftwaffe HQ in Berlin Coordinating offensive efforts against the looming British bomber raid. He turned to a door near the end of the hallway belonging to the office of his former superior, Wolfgang Eisenhart, a prolific commander and longtime family friend. His knocks yielded no response from anyone inside the office.

A tiger in the opposite room stuck his head out and asked, “What do you need?”

“Do you know where Oberst Eisenhart is?” Nick asked as he held his paw up in salute. “I need to get my transfer paperwork from him.”

The tiger, door now open, showed his full form and returned the salute. He was dressed in a typical dark blue Luftwaffe dress uniform, which displayed his rank of Major and campaign ribbons proudly on his chest, and knee high boots. “Command center. But be careful down there, you might get trampled. The allies are planning something tonight and HQ is dying to find out.”

“Danke schön, Major. Heil Hitler,” Nick remarked as he held his paw up in salute. The tiger returned it and slunk back into his office

He walked back to the main atrium and took a left down into the basement level of the building. Soft brown of wood paneling was replaced by gray concrete. At the end of the hall, two tigers stood guard at a double door leading to the war room. As Nick approached, the guard on the left held out his hand.

“Halt! What is your business here?”

“I need to talk to Oberst Wolfgang Eisenhart. He said it’s urgent,” Nick said pulling the note from his coat pocket.

“I don’t care if it’s urgent. No unauthorized personnel in the war room, no exceptions.” The guard disregarded the note.

“It’s about my transfer orders to Falaise.”

Both of the tigers froze, looked at each other, and then looked back at the fox standing before them.

“Schultz, escort the Unteroffizier here to room 14A.”

“But Klink, I thought you said –”

“Now Schultz!” Klink said spinning around, glaring at Schultz. The tiger nearest the door reeled back before signaling for the fox to follow him. Klink quickly ran to the phone on the wall and ordered the operator to patch him to 14A.

Schultz was mumbling indiscernibly under his breath, obviously begrudged by the way his comrade had treated him. The War Room was a loud and unorganized chaos similar to, if not more so, than upstairs. Smaller prey animals worked on the large map table in the middle of the room, moving flags and little figures symbolizing allied and axis troop movements within Europe. The larger predators in the room worked around the clock to maintain communication with Berlin and relay orders to each unit within the bases sector. The two walked to the opposite end of the war room into a smaller hallway where large meeting rooms for the chiefs of staff were located.

“Room 14A. The Wehrmacht must be planning something big if you’re a part of it,” Schultz remarked.

“You know who I am?” inquired Nick.

“Of course! You’re Nicholas Wilde, The Red Terror. Your exploits on the Eastern Front are notorious here. Stories of the red fox who braved Russian winter, Stalingrad, Moscow, Operation Barbarossa…you’re a legend!”

Nick retorted somberly, “I’m no legend.”

“Then why do the Russians have a price on your head? Did you know the bounty is fifty thousand rubles to the mammal who kills you and brings your pelt to Stalin himself?”

_Great…_ , Nick thought. _Just what I need, more attention._

“Only fifty thousand?” he said, indulging the tiger. The larger mammal laughed, echoing through the hallway.

“Hans Schultz,” the tiger said holding out a paw. Nick took his hand and returned the handshake.

“Pleasure to meet you Hans,” Nick said. “Of course you already know my name.”

A brown and cream colored timber wolf stepped out of the room in front of the two soldiers. Both the fox and the wolf recognized each other almost immediately.

“Nicholas!”

“Wolfie!”

“I told you not to call me that!” a smile still evident on the timber wolf’s muzzle.

“And I told you to just call me Nick,” retorted the fox.

“Ah, you haven’t changed a bit, albeit a few more scars than the last time I saw you. How long has it been? Eght months?”

“Almost a year,” corrected Nick.

“Scheisse…has it been that long?” he asked almost bewildered.

“I need to keep track of time more diligently. Oh, where are my manners? Come inside and sit down,” Wolfgang said to Nick, ushering him in.

He then turned to the tiger, a menacing expression on his face. “Obersoldat you are to keep everyone out of this room until I say so. If anyone enters without my permission, I will personally execute you in the middle of the tarmac. And I’d hate to give the ground crews more work than they already have today.”

“Jawohl Herr Oberst!” he saluted the timber wolf and briskly turned around in front of the door, the latch locking shut.

* * *

The room was bathed in an electric white light. The walls were barren except for the few maps of Europe that decorated the front of the room. The table was filled with charts and files that were incomprehensible due to the wild sketches of battle plans drawn on them. The timber wolf locked the door and grabbed an open bottle of Schnapps from the cabinet with two glasses. He sat in the seat at the head of the table while Nick jumped up into an oversized to the right of the head seat and stood on the cushion, his feet pads feeling the coldness of the leather. Eisenhart poured the Schnapps into the two glasses and slid one to Nick, who took a large gulp of the clear gold liquid.

“I see you haven’t lost your good taste,” said the wolf. “How’s your mother doing?”

“Come on Stein. I know you. You don’t break out the alcohol early for occasions like this,” stated Nick. “Come on; cut the bullshit…where am I going.”

The timber wolf took one last swig before setting the glass down. “You and your squad are being reassigned to the Twenty-Third Panzergrenadier Battalion.”

Nick groaned at the prospect of fighting with regulars and finished off his glass. “Why are Fallschirmjägers being lent over to the Heer? Don’t they have enough snipers?”

“Yes but…they’ve met some resistance in Falaise. Intelligence suggests that lead elements of the British Second Army are already occupying part of the town and trying to get a foothold. The Wehrmacht is mustering all the fighting mammals they can get their mangy paws on,” Eisenhart answered. “In driving the allies back, the twenty-third lost most of their snipers due to counter-sniping operations by the Brits.”

“Really?” questioned Nick incredulously. “How in the hell does a unit as big as the twenty-third lose that many of their snipers? I get if you lose a few but–”

“I know, I know. High command’s been racking their brains about it too. But in the meantime, they’ve asked some the more experienced units to provide some snipers since they are shorthanded attempting to defend Cherbourg and Saint Lô,” Eisenhart said with a solemn tone to his demeanor. The room grew silent except for the slight shuffling of the two mammals in the seats. As Nick looked closer and closer at the maps on the tables, he began to realize what this was.

“This isn’t just another blocking action…is it?” questioned the fox. “This is a full blown offensive; to drive a wedge through the enemy lines and demoralize them. We’re just pawns in a bigger operation.”

Wolfgang took one long sigh as he poured another double shot of Schnapps, “Yes, it is. A massive counter attack against the allies to ‘drive the invaders back to the sea’ as Hitler put it. I’m sorry to have to put you in this position but I have no choice. If I could, I would’ve said no fo–”

“Don’t apologize. You’re only doing your job. I know what I got into when I joined the `jägers,” Nick said as he finished off the rest of his drink. “You can count on us mein herr. We’ll be ready to move out by midnight tonight.”

The fox jumped off the chair landing on all fours before pulling himself off the floor. “Thanks for the drink.”

“Here, you’ll need these,” said the brown timber wolf as he handed Nick his transfer paperwork along with his squad mates’. He was walking towards the door when Eisenhart stopped him one last time.

“You didn’t answer my question, Nick.”

The fox paused in his tracks, his paw on the door handle, “She died two months ago…”

“My condolences. If you don’t mind me asking: of what?”

“The doctor said it had something to do with her heart.” Nick pushed open the door and left the room, leaving the timber wolf to collect his thoughts.

* * *

“Come on then Schmidt. What are you waiting for?”

“Yah Schmitt. What are you waiting for, this Beute to beat your arsch?

“Shut it, Fuchs!”

The squad of five was sitting around a table in the middle of the mess hall, a stack of cards and a pile of money on the table. Two of the five were playing for the pot.

“I don’t tell you how to play poker,” said Schmidt

“Yah well, I don’t get into these types of situations,” retorted the brown fox hold his hands up.

“Well then if you know how to play, then show your hand already,” stated the cape buffalo, cards in hand.

“You first!”

“I hope you’re having fun over here,” a voice from behind Fuchs spoke out. The five mammals, a tiger, cape buffalo, brown fox, a stag, and a rabbit, turned to face the newcomer.

“Hey Nick. How’s your evening?” asked Fuchs.

“Could be better,” Nick responded as he pulled up a chair to watch the action. “We’ve got new orders. We are to be transferred to the Twenty-Third Panzergrenadiers.”

His squadmates groaned in unison.

“Ugh…panzergrens? Might as well be a transfer to a Säugetier division.”

“Hey, I was in the Säugetiergrenadiers.”

“Yeah, then you got smart.”

“Look I know it sounds stupid but we’ve got counter-sniping duty against the British,” Nick said.

“Counter-sniping?” the cape buffalo asked, putting down his cards face up. “If it’s as easy as Stalingrad, we’ll be back by tomorrow evening. Oh and Schmidt? Flush.”

“They took out most of the Twenty-Thirds sniper group, Müller.”

Everyone looked up at the red fox aghast, murmuring to each other.

“Schiesse…a whole sniper group gone?”

“Scheißkerl…”

“Definitely better than the Russians.”

“We move out tonight,” interjected Nick as he stood up. “Take a warm shower, get some hot food, and get some extra supplies from the Quartiermeister. I expect you to be mustered and ready at the motor pool by zero hundred hours. And Müller?”

“Ja Herr Wilde?” acknowledged the cape buffalo.

“A full house beats a flush.”

“Ha HA!”

“Scheiße!”

“Ah come on Müller! I had two hundred Reichsmarks in that pot!”

* * *

_Motor Pool  
23:52_

The motor pool was empty except for the few mammals loading supplies into the half-track that was to take Nick and his squad to Falaise. The five were standing at the vehicle entrance waiting for their Sergeant. Schmidt and Fuchs were smoking a cigarette while Müller, Herschel, and Klein were inspecting their weapons.

Out of the dark night came the familiar form of a fox dressed in green and brown camouflage, a helmet replaced his patrol cap; his rifle was sling over his shoulder.

“Achtung,” Nick uttered. The squad stood at attention lazily, gathering their belongings at their feet. The driver ran to the door and signaled for the squad to load up. The engine roared to life and the half-track proceeded to the east gate.

* * *

_War Room  
00:07_

“Hauptmann, we’ve got an incoming message from Falaise,” stated one of the weasels at the radio consoles. “It’s coming in very sporadically…I’ll try to clean it up.”

The weasel listened to the transmission, attempting to find the right amplitude and frequency. The wolf stood behind him, waiting patiently. His eyes widened and his paws hovered over the dials.

 “Sir, you need to hear this.” His paws turned a dial and started playing the message over the speaker on top of the console.

“– UNDER ATTACK! I REPEAT! FALAISE HAS BEEN ENCIRCLED AND IS UNDER ATTACK! WE NEED ASSISTANCE NOW! ALL ROADS HAVE BEEN CUT OFF!”

“Mein Gott…get me Berlin. And make sure all supply runs to Falaise are cancelled!” the wolf yelled across the room.

“A half-track left fifteen minutes ago with supplies and a squad of men.”

“Verdammt scheiße…may God help them.”


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I felt that the first chapter ended in the wrong place so here's part 2 of chapter 1. Thanks again to Maxmar for helping me with the German.

The ride from the airfield was relatively smooth except for a few bumps on the road. Most of the squad was asleep in their seats whilst Nick was looking over the battle plans for the offensive. Panzer brigades along with Panzergrenadiers were to drive a wedge into the bulk of the allied advance, stopping the allies cold and giving Germany time to regroup. Fuchs had finished his cigarette and was fiddling with his rifle, obviously nervous.

“First time on the frontlines?” The foxes head snapped up in surprise.

“Erm…Jawohl Herr Wilde.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll be with me as my spotter. With that rifle, you won’t hit anything,” the fox stated as he pointed to Fuch’s scoped Gewehr 43. “Semi-automatic rifles aren’t too effective at longer ranges.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Achtung!” one of the voices in the front of the half-track yelled out. The vehicle braked suddenly and threw the squad out of their seats into the boxes of supplies.

“OW!”

“WAS ZUM TEUFEL IHR IDIOTEN!?!?”

“Could you hit the brakes a little harder next time? I think my face needs a little redecorating!”

“At least you’re not being crushed by a thousand pound chunk of meat!”

“Sorry!”

“Look at the road Arschloch!” one of the drivers cried. Nick dug himself out of a pile of combat rations and sniffed the heavens, the scent of death prominent in the air. He climbed to the top and saw what affirmed his senses. The road to Falaise was clogged with burnt out vehicles and the half charred bodies of German soldiers riddled with bullet holes.

“Fahrer, hold here. You!” Nick exclaimed as he pointed to the panther in the passenger seat. “Get on the Maschinengewehr.”

The fox jumped down from the roof into the crew compartment where his squad mates were getting ready to disembark. They’d seen this a thousand times over in Russia to know what was next. The panther scampered into the gunners’ seat and pulled the cocking handle, signaling that the MG was ready to fire.

“Fallschirmjäger! Geht von bord!”

The rear doors slammed open and the six mammals jumped out. They made a defensive line around the half-track, scanning the horizon with their rifles. Klein and Schmidt checked the bodies for any survivors to no avail. The smoke made it hard for the sniper teams to get a bearing on their surroundings. They were spread three on each side of the road parallel to the vehicle.

“Vorrücken!”

The half-track lurched forward and the six march along the side of the road proceeding toward Falaise. Wreckage seemed to be strewn for miles as hundreds of Opel Blitz trucks and half-tracks burned on the road, the smell of blood and smoke filling everyone’s nostrils, making the use of scent almost impossible. A form suddenly appeared in the orange and black smoke in front of the squad; the audible clicking of safeties being disengaged and the squealing of the half-track’s brakes was heard. Once again, the squad formed a line in front of the vehicle. They were all prone, waiting for the form to reveal itself.

“Unteroffizier Wilde will take the shot. Pass it down the line,” whispered Nick to Fuchs.

One by one each mammal passed the message down. Klein then gave the message to the driver, who relayed it to the gunner. Nick peered through his scope at the form. The unknown figure was seemingly shambling towards the group with a limp. It held something in his hand but was apparently using the object to support itself. As it walked through the smoke, the forms physical features began to appear. It stood six and a half feet tall compared to the wreckage it walked past. Glimpses of the black uniform were apparent; various medals on the chest were visible, including a Balkenkreuz.

“Nicht schießen!” yelled out Nick. “Schmidt, Müller! Follow me!”

The three stood up and ran towards the figure, now visible to the whole squad. He was a black panther dressed in a tarnished black uniform, similar to the uniforms of tank crewmen of the Heer. His identifying patches and marks were either gone or too dirty to make out. His right leg was barely usable as multiple shards of metal stuck out from his calf and thigh.

“You must…LEAVE!” gasped the panther, who collapsed into the arms of Müller and Schmidt. “Get out of here while you can!”

The panther continued to mutter incoherently as they set him down next to the half-track, leaning him on his uninjured side. He continued pointing in the opposite direction from which the group came from but began yelling again.

“You must leave! They’re coming!”

“What happened soldier? Who’s coming?” Nick asked calmly. He place a paw on the panther’s left shoulder and handed him a canteen. “Tell me…what happened here.”

The panther’s eyes, formally wide with fear, were returning to normal. He sighed as he took the canteen from Nick and took a swig. “We were headed to Falaise whe –”

_BANG!_

Blood splattered across Nick’s face, spraying his fur and uniform a dark red color. Pain flared from his left shoulder and he felt a warm sensation trickling down his chest. His vision went dark for what he thought was a brief moment, darting in and out of consciousness. He felt a paw grab the collar of his jacket and drag him back. He could hear the machine gun on the half-track laying automatic fire into the smoke, covering the squad as they made their retreat. The pain in his shoulder overwhelmed his senses and he blacked out yet again.

When he regained consciousness, the sounds of battle had disappeared replaced by crickets and the crackling of fire. His body was propped up against a tree parallel to the road and could see the faint glow of blurry orange. As his vision began to clear up, he spotted two scorched bodies hanging over the side of the now burning wreckage of the half-track. He wanted to move his left arm but flinched in pain as he’d forgotten about his injury. He touched the wound lightly only to reveal that he’d been patched up with a field bandage.

With his good arm, Nick hoisted himself up off the ground. His vision began to fade again as he leaned against another smaller tree and fell to his knees.

_Come on Wilde…it’s only a flesh wound._

He gathered his strength and pulled himself onto the road. Surprisingly it was more barren than he had last remembered.

“How the hell did we get here?” Nick muttered to himself. “I need to keep moving.”

Nick’s body ached, screaming at him to stop and his legs felt like lead.  He staggered away from the burning wreck, shedding the equipment he had on his back one piece at a time.

_Just keep going Wilde…just keep…_

He finally succumbed to the loss of blood as he fell to the ground once more, his vision fading into the darkness one last time.


End file.
